


Brambles

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Schmoop, Writer Cas, more like gardener dean and pining cas, really their professions are not important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: “You like the dirty mechanic look, Cas?” Dean says, winking.Cas steps back to let him in.  “Not particularly.”Dean’s grin falls.  He swipes an arm over his sweaty forehead.  “Well, get used to it, bud, ‘cause I’m your neighborhood dirty mechanic on the days I’m not the neighborhood drunken arsonist.”[This is a repost of a previously chaptered and incomplete work - except now this is COMPLETE and all in one installment.]





	Brambles

**Author's Note:**

> This was previously posted about a year ago, but had been discontinued for quite a while... but now I've COMPLETED it and want to pretend as if I didn't keep everyone waiting...
> 
> Thanks to elizabethrobertajones on Tumblr, who entertained an anon who sparked the idea for this fic.

Castiel Novak had his noise-canceling headphones on when it happened. As such, he missed the frantic, panicked yelling of his next-door neighbor trying to alert him to the fact that his garden was on fire.

Luckily, a few other things clued him in on the situation: first, the smell of burning vegetation, and second, the very bright light of the rather impressive fire consuming his garden.

Finally noticing what was going on, Cas was forced to vacate his writing station on the second floor of his modest home and investigate the fire. He dialed 911 as he did. 

Now, standing on his back step, he drops the call. He also drops the phone. He frowns at the smoking remains of his favorite shrub, then at the man standing over it with a hose. “You set my shrub on fire,” he accuses. The man is familiar - his neighbor, perhaps.

His neighbor’s face is flushed, but from the heat or from embarrassment, Cas can’t tell. The man drags a hand through his hair. “Yeah, man. Shit. Sorry.” He sweeps the hose from left to right, then says, painfully, “And uh, I think I might have ignited your roses, too.”

Cas moves his gaze to the right, where his once-prolific rose bush smolders. What was once lively and green is now soot-blackened. “You... ignited my roses,” he repeats, his eyebrows furrowing.

The man groans. He presses his free hand over his eyes. “Yeah, man,” he says again, shaking his head. “I just - damn, dude, I’m sorry. The fireworks were a stupid decision.”

“Fireworks,” Cas says. “You set my garden on fire with fireworks.”

“Not on purpose!” the man insists, holding up one hand. He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs heavily. “Listen, dude, I’m really sorry. I’m a shitty neighbor. Like - I’ll make it up to you somehow. But right now, I’m drunk as fuck and can’t even be sure I’m not dreaming. So - “ he waves a hand vaguely - “I’ll talk to you tomorrow? If this is actually happening?” He drops the hose and walks away. Cas hears the knob squeaking as the man shuts off the water.

 

Cas’s doorbell rings the next morning at 9am. When he answers the door, his neighbor stands there looking haggard. 

The man holds out a hand and gives a self-deprecating smile. “Hi, there. I’m your neighbor Dean, the drunken arsonist.”

He looks so exhausted that Cas almost takes pity on him. Almost. But. His roses. He frowns instead as he takes Dean’s hand. “I guess you figured out it wasn’t a dream, then.”

“Not a dream,” Dean confirms, looking grim. He sniffs and looks behind Cas. “Can I, uh - can I come in?”

Cas steps back and lets Dean through. “I’m Castiel,” he says. 

Dean nods as he seats himself in Cas’s small living room. “Okay, Castiel,” he says. “I’m gonna lay it out for you here: I feel like shit for setting your yard on fire.”

Cas sits down across from Dean. He nods and doesn’t say anything.

Dean seems to be waiting for a reply. When it doesn’t come, he blinks twice in quick succession. “What, that’s it?”

“Do you want pity?” Cas asks, unimpressed. “I’m the one with a pile of ashes for a garden.”

“Most people would express some sympathy, even if they don’t mean it,” Dean points out.

“Fine,” Cas replies. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with the consequences of your own drunken actions.”

Dean stares some more. Then he cracks a smile that seems genuine, if a little bemused. “Fair enough,” he says. He looks out the window, where the edges of the burnt rosebush can just be seen. He sighs. “Look, I really do feel like shit. And I wanna make up for it.” He jerks his head toward the rose bush. “I might be able to save the roses, if you want.”

Cas contemplates this. After a few seconds, he says, “It’s a start.”

Dean presses his lips together and stares. He seems not to know whether to be amused or annoyed. He settles for shaking his head and chuckling. “‘It’s a start,’” he repeats, raising his eyebrows at the floor.

“I’ve always wanted some rosemary,” Cas suggests. “And there’s a corner I haven’t completely cleared of brambles yet.”

Either Cas has said something funny or there’s something on his face, because Dean’s staring again, this time with a slight smirk. Cas surreptitiously wipes his chin and looks down at his hand.

Dean snorts. “There’s nothing on your face, man. It’s just - you’re kinda - anyway.” He clears his throat and looks out the window again. “I’ll help you out with your garden, even with your ‘brambles’ or whatever.” He stands up. “And uh, sorry again for setting it on fire.”

Cas shrugs and leads him to the door again. “If you had set the brambles on fire, I would have thanked you.”

Dean claps a hand on Cas’s arm before exiting. He’s still smirking for some reason. “I’m sure you would have, Cas.” He holds up a hand as he climbs down the porch steps. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

Dean is back in the afternoon the next day. He shuffles up to Cas’s front door and knocks, dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans. Cas opens the door and stares.

“Something wrong?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows.

Cas gestures vaguely at his face. “You’ve got - “

Dean furrows his brow, then grins in realization. “You like the dirty mechanic look, Cas?” he says, winking. 

Cas steps back to let him in. “Not particularly.”

Dean’s grin falls. He swipes an arm over his forehead. “Well, get used to it, bud, ‘cause I’m your neighborhood dirty mechanic on the days I’m not the neighborhood drunken arsonist.” He jerks a thumb toward Cas’s back door. “I’m gonna get started.” He lopes off. 

With a frown, Cas watches him exit, not able to shake the feeling he did something wrong.

 

Cas peeks out of his back door a half hour later and finds Dean frowning over the remnants of Cas’s shrub. He looks over his shoulder when he hears the door open. In the summer air, his skin shimmers with sweat. “Hey, Cas,” he greets. “Your shrub’s done for.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Cas comments dryly. He moves to stand next to Dean and kicks the blackened stump with a foot. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean says, holding up a hand, “Don’t kick it when it’s down, man.”

Cas chuckles, impressed despite himself. “Is that wordplay?”

Dean sends him a sidelong look. “Not really. But I guess I have a better idea of your sense of humor now.”

Feeling his cheeks warm, Cas clears his throat. “I’m - I’m a writer, so word manipulation, I suppose you can say, is my idea of fun.” He expects Dean to laugh at him, can’t even contemplate why he said it in the first place - but Dean just nods, his eyebrows raised. 

“Never met a pro writer before,” he says, sounding genuinely interested. “Must be nice, staying home all day.”

“It was,” Cas admits, “Before people started setting my yard on fire.”

Dean snorts, then clears his throat like he’s embarrassed - but then just as suddenly doubles over laughing. 

Cas fights a smile as he watches Dean wipe away tears. Seems like Cas has a better idea of his neighbor’s sense of humor now too.

 

The shrub, as Dean says, is done for, but the rose bush is surprisingly intact. “Only a few flower heads caught on fire,” Dean explained that morning, as he poked off a crisp, blackened rosebud. “Should grow good as new with a good pruning.”

He provided the pruning and then afterward tracked dirt all over Cas’s kitchen floor as he made his way to the front door. Upon noticing, he turned red and spent another ten minutes on his hands and knees, wiping down what he had tracked in, despite Cas’s confused protests. 

“You’re going to start thinking I’m out to ruin your home, Cas,” Dean said, flashing a charming grin that vanished and turned into a scowl as soon as he looked down again.

Now Cas looks at his newly cleaned floor, and feels irrationally guilty for walking on it. Gingerly he steps into his backyard. 

In the dying daylight, he surveys his newly trimmed rose bush. Dean did a good job. Before Dean had taken shears to it, the bush had been unruly and untamed, not to mention burnt beyond recognition. Now, it looked much more like a rose bush was supposed to look, despite missing a few blooms.

He’s just taken a step back toward his back door when his neighbor’s back door opens. Dean exits, holding a phone to his ear. Cas stops, curious despite knowing better than to eavesdrop.

“Listen, Sammy, I know you’re busy and all but seriously, dude - “ - here Dean laughs, low and bitter - “It’s been two weeks. Call me when you get this. Like the minute, the _second_ you get this. Got it? I - I miss you, bro.”

Dean sighs when he hangs up, then lifts his eyes to the horizon. He cuts a sad figure in the fading light as he rubs his jaw tiredly. It’s a poignant scene, one that Cas suddenly itches to write. 

He’s so caught up in memorizing the details - the angle of Dean’s chin, the exact shade of sunset orange that hugs his profile - that he forgets he’s staring. He’s startled back to reality when Dean turns his head and meets Cas’s eyes.

Cas lifts a hand to wave, but Dean’s eyebrows furrow and his mouth twists into a scowl and he’s gone, back into a house with two bedrooms and only one lonely occupant.

 

Later that week, Cas stands in front of his rose bush with a pair of newly purchased gardening shears. He read online that it’s a good idea to keep rose bushes trimmed before they get unruly, but he has no idea where to start. It looks great. Maybe he can leave the trimming for another month or so? Another year? 

He’s about to snip off a leaf or two, just to get the feel of it, when a voice interrupts him. “What the hell are you doing to my rose bush?”

Cas looks up, startled, toward Dean’s backyard. The man himself is there, just on the other side of the low fence, looking indignant.

“Well,” Cas says, “It’s not your rose bush. And also, I didn’t think you were coming back.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I do have a 9 to 5, Cas. I can’t spend my days doing your gardening.” He pauses and looks suddenly contemplative. “Unless, of course, you’re looking for a gardener.”

“If I could pay for someone to tend my garden, do you think I’d ask the man who set it on fire?”

Dean sighs. “Had to try. Anyhow, I’ll be around tomorrow.” He grins, apparently having already forgotten his anger from the other day. “And I’ve got a surprise for you.”

 

The surprise, as it turns out, is Dean at 7 in the morning showing up at Cas’s door, flushed with exertion and carrying a potted rosemary plant. The shrub is contained in a large terra cotta pot, so heavy that Cas ends up carrying the other side for Dean as they make their way to the back door.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says breathlessly, once they finally set the pot down in Cas’s backyard. “That was a workout.”

Cas is sprawled on the ground, having had to sit down almost immediately lest he faint. “That was not a good surprise,” he says grumpily, self-consciously wiping away the sweat that trickles down his temple. 

Dean collapses next to him. He’s grinning despite his flushed face. “You’re just bitter I made you get off your lazy ass.”

“My ass is not ‘lazy,’” Cas says, though there’s not much force behind it. “My ass is merely employed to sit in a chair all day.”

“Lazy,” Dean repeats. “I should take you to the gym or something.”

“I run sometimes,” Cas says, a little defensively.

“Do any strength training?” At Cas’s blank look, Dean nods. “Didn’t think so. It’s pretty obvious what with your huffing and puffing all the way over here.”

“That was your own huffing and puffing,” Cas snaps, though for some reason, he’s smiling. It occurs to him that this is what most people would call flirting. 

It’s nice.

Especially when Dean rolls his eyes and laughs, like Cas isn’t the strange reclusive writer whose garden he set fire to just last week. Like Cas is a friend, or something at least approaching one.

Cas suddenly inexplicably really wants to keep Dean in his life. He points to the fence that separates their properties. It’s old and rotting. It’s ridiculous. “I’ve been meaning to take that down,” he says quietly. 

Dean gives him a sidelong look, all raised eyebrows and appraising green eyes. A grin grows slowly across his face. “You mean, ‘Now that I have my neighbor as a slave to do all my gardening for me, I might as well have him take down that ugly-ass fence so I can order him around more easily’?”

“No,” Cas says, grinning at his lap as he leans on his palms, “It’s so you can carry the next heavy thing straight to the yard, and I can stay on my lazy ass inside.”

Dean throws back his head and laughs again. Cas is composing a poem about it before he even realizes what he’s doing.

 

The next day is a Sunday, and Cas spends it dawdling over his latest chapter. He’s about to give up and go for a run when he hears a hollow, rhythmic thumping coming from his backyard. Eyebrows furrowed, he goes outside.

“When I said I wanted to take the fence down,” he calls out, holding up a hand to shield his face from flying wood chips, “I meant in a less violent way.”

Dean raises the ax again. “Helps channel my frustration,” he grunts. “Better the fence than your roses again.”

“Wait,” Cas says, narrowing his eyes, “Did you set fire to my garden because you were _frustrated_?”

Dean pauses in his destruction to level a dry look at Cas. “No, I set fire to your garden because you’re a lousy neighbor.”

Cas must look confused, because Dean drops the ax and sighs. 

“I set fire to your garden because it was the Fourth of July, I was drunk, and I had fireworks. No other reason than that, Cas.”

“So I’m not a lousy neighbor?”

“Until I met you, Cas, I didn’t realize I _had_ a neighbor. You’re kinda quiet.” Dean grins as he says the next part: “And kind of a hermit.”

Cas scowls. “And you’re destructive.”

Dean shoulders the ax again. “That’s why you need me, Cas,” he says, as he winks. He gets back to his work, and Cas steps back a few feet to watch for the remainder of the morning.

 

For only a few days’ work, the backyard looks decent. The rosebush is alive despite the fire’s best attempts at defeating it, and the rosemary has taken to the soil and in the evenings especially perfumes the air with a woodsy scent. 

The ugly fence, meanwhile, is steadily hacked to bits over the next few days. On Thursday, when all that’s left are a few wood chips littering one side of the lawn, Dean and Cas share a celebratory toast.

“You gonna replace it?” Dean asks, lifting his beer bottle to his lips.

Cas looks away at that, his ears warm. He contemplates the answer. “I’m not sure yet,” he says. “I think that would have to be a joint decision between you and I, anyhow.”

He sees Dean looking at him, but he fixes his gaze steadfastly on his rose bush. Dean doesn’t say anything. Eventually, he looks away, to the far corner of Cas’s yard. “I’m going to clear your ‘brambles’ out next.” He snickers as he says it.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Stop teasing my vocabulary,” he says. “Brambles is a perfectly legitimate word.”

Dean smiles, almost affectionately. “Of course, Cas.”

“Anyway,” Cas says, trying not to read too much into Dean’s tone of voice, “I hope you don’t feel obligated to come by anymore. You’ve done more than enough.”

“Tired of me already?” Dean asks; he says it lightly, but there’s an edge to it that makes Cas choose his next words carefully.

“That’s not it at all,” he says, “I’m just afraid you’re going to set something on fire again.” 

The joke takes the hurt away from Dean’s gaze. He touches his bottle to Cas’s lightly in another toast. “I like working on your yard, Cas; gives me something to do. Tell you what, though - you can throw me a barbecue before summer ends. _Then_ we’ll see who’s setting what on fire. Either way, I’m sticking around. At least until your ‘brambles’ are cleared out.”

Cas grins; it’s getting easier to do that now. “Deal,” he says. 

 

Whatever Cas expected would happen after the fence is taken down is not...this. He wakes up at 5am to a vicious squeaking sound. Squinting, he peers out of his window. 

Dean is currently guiding a squeaky old wheelbarrow to the far corner of Cas’s yard. He’s wearing earbuds, singing along, and looking far too chipper for such an early start. 

Cas collapses on his bed and hides his face in his blanket. 

He can’t explain the smile on his face.

 

The smile vanishes later in the afternoon when he hears the unmistakable sounds of a pair of bowlegs hitting a squeaky old wheelbarrow and then pained, passionate cursing.

He pauses over his book, uncertain whether or not to go and help. About a minute later, he’s saved from making a decision when he hears knocking. 

The sight that greets him at his back door makes his eyes grow wide. A dozen scratches - undoubtedly from the brambles - litter Dean’s arms. Three on the left side of his face leak a slow stream of blood. “Dean, what happened? Are you okay? Do you need anything - “

He continues like this for a few more seconds until Dean, having apparently indulged him enough, holds up a hand, looking unimpressed. “Cas, did you seriously just suggest calling an ambulance for a few scratches?”

Cas pauses. “Did I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t think I meant it.”

Dean pushes past him, chuckling, “I’m pretty sure you did, you worrywart.”

Cas trails after him, trying to count the number of scratches on Dean’s arms. “Forgive me if I panic when my neighbor shows up at my door _covered in blood._ ”

Cas can’t see Dean’s face, but he’s sure the man rolls his eyes. “It looks worse than it is. I assume you have antiseptic and shit somewhere?”

“Upstairs bathroom.” 

He watches Dean lug himself heavily up the stairs and fails to stop himself from following. 

Dean stops and twists to give him a look. “Seriously? I know how to take care of myself, mom.”

Cas lifts his chin. “Sue me for feeling responsible.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, looking thoughtful. “I could actually sue you, you know.”

Cas scowls. “How about I sue you for setting my garden on fire and for bleeding on my wood floors?”

A put-out expression overtakes Dean’s face. “Call it even, I guess.” He stomps up the stairs again.

They end up squeezed into Cas’s bathroom, with Cas rummaging through his medicine cabinet and Dean hunched over on the toilet cover.

The silence quickly becomes too stifling, though Cas refuses to examine why. He fills it by asking, “So what exactly happened?”

“Your goddamn brambles is what happened,” Dean says, irritable.

Cas purses his lips as he looks for his first-aid kit. “From the sounds I heard, I think what happened is that you tripped over that stupid wheelbarrow into my ‘goddamn brambles.’”

Dean snorts. “You’d be right, then.” He scrubs a hand over his face, then makes a disgusted sound when his hand comes away sticky with blood.

The next words are out of Cas’s mouth before he has a chance to think them through. “You should wash off that blood.”

Dean stares at him. “In the shower?”

Cas presses his lips together and tries to stop himself from letting out a nervous, girly laugh. He nods once. “The - it’s probably better - you’d wash off all the - dirt - and sweat - “

There’s another moment of stillness, then Dean nods too. “More hygienic,” he agrees, just a breath. 

“We can clean it afterward,” Cas continues, still rummaging through his supplies, despite already having the first-aid kit in his hand. 

He’s not ready for the moment Dean peels his shirt off, nor is he ready for when Dean steps out of his jeans. He just stares into the depths of his medicine cabinet and tries to remember to exhale.

When Dean finally pulls the shower curtain closed and turns on the water, Cas releases his breath. He washes his face, flushed and warm, and tries not to think of Dean using his bodywash.

 

Cas is more prepared for when Dean comes out of the shower, but he still feels oddly separated from reality when Dean clears his throat and bares his back to him. “Figured we could get these out of the way,” he says, “And I can do the rest by myself.”

Cas makes a noise that Dean apparently takes as agreement because he sits on the toilet cover again, adjusting the towel around his waist. 

His back is tanned and muscular, and Cas tries his hardest not to think of how it came to be that way - but the images come unbidden, of Dean underneath a car or waxing it to a shine or reaching a hand into its inner workings. 

He’s swiftly coming to understand that while he doesn’t necessarily like the dirty mechanic look, he’s quite fond of the dirty mechanic sitting shirtless in front of him. It’s an unsettling thought, one that makes his breath come shallow, so he immerses himself in the work in front of him, pouring peroxide onto Dean’s wounds and then spreading antibiotic ointment across them. 

He does it methodically, concentrates on limiting the risk of infection, because otherwise he’d be admiring the freckles dotting Dean’s shoulders and studying the twitch of his muscles every time Cas pours the cold peroxide over his skin.

An eternity later, after Cas carefully pastes another bandage on Dean’s back, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He clears his throat and steps away.

Dean’s face is unreadable when he stands up. He offers a perfunctory smile. “Thanks, man.”

Cas peels off a bandage wrapper stuck to his palm. “It’s no problem,” he says, before lifting an awkward hand and saying, “I’ll - just leave you to it.”

He shuts himself in his bedroom until he hears the back door open, then close.

 

Dean gets a lot done over the next week or so. He drops by in the morning for an hour or two before heading to work, then again in the afternoon - more often than not just to share a beer and point out to Cas what he did in the morning.

He tends to the rosemary and starts clearing the yard of brambles and plants a few new herbs alongside the rosemary. One afternoon, Dean knocks on his backdoor and then pushes a little pot of mint into Cas’s hands when the door opens, tells him not to plant it with the others because “little jerk’s invasive,” but that they go great with cocktails. He cleans up and builds a little birdhouse complete with a birdfeeder because Cas had casually mentioned he liked the sound of birdsong. 

One day, he stands with Cas on the backstep and says, “I want a koi pond.”

Cas looks at Dean’s own backyard, lush and green but almost completely empty. “Go for it,” he says.

It’s only when he looks at Dean’s red face that he understands.

“Oh,” he says quietly, “You meant here.”

Dean winces. “Yeah, dude, sorry. Don’t know why I said it like that.”

Cas shrugs, tries to lessen the mortification on Dean’s face by saying, “With how much you’ve done to my yard, it makes sense that you would feel a sense of ownership over it. I don’t mind.”

But Dean just gives him a tight smile and looks at his watch. “Gotta go,” he says, almost casually enough to be believable - but by this point, Cas has got a good handle of Dean’s tells. 

He lets it go. “Of course,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you later.”

Dean’s off the step and heading into his own backyard before Cas can even blink.

 

It was one of those moments that Cas finds extremely frustrating. Dean’s at once the most charming yet most guarded person he has ever met, and his moods are unpredictable at best. 

Some nights Cas opens the door to a grinning, flirty Dean who’s clutching a six-pack and a bag of takeout. On those nights, they’ll walk around the garden and talk about Dean’s progress while they eat oily noodles from paper plates. They’ll share a beer or two and make small talk, and it always happens that by the time Dean leaves, Cas has a smile on his face that keeps him up until well past midnight.

But there are also days when Cas looks out his window and finds Dean stomping all across his garden with a pronounced scowl on his face, hacking away at brambles or pruning the herbs with unnecessary vigor. Cas will watch for a minute that turns into fifteen into thirty into an hour and usually ends with Cas’s forehead pressed against the glass, wondering when he became the character he swore he would never write, mooning after someone so pitifully.

Because that’s what he’s doing - mooning after the stranger-turned-arsonist-turned-neighbor-turned-gardener-turned-(dare he say it?)-friend. Cas may spend more hours inside than is socially and emotionally healthy, but he isn’t stupid. He knows he’s attracted to Dean in a way that’s getting out of hand. 

But he’s got no idea what to do about it, especially when Dean, despite his friendly and charming personality, closes off whenever Cas asks a question that intrudes on his personal life. It’s obvious that he doesn’t trust Cas entirely, and despite knowing that this is not a fault of his own but rather a probable effect of Dean’s probably less-than-happy past, Cas is… disappointed.

The koi pond conversation and its resulting emotional shutdown was yet another example of Dean’s fear of showing vulnerability, and so when Dean avoids Cas for the next few days, Cas is hardly surprised.

 

A few nights later, Cas is lounging on his sofa watching a movie, trying and failing not to think of Dean, when he hears a knock at his back door. When he opens it, Dean stands with a sheepish grin, holding up a six-pack. “Hey, bud,” he says, and it almost sounds like an apology. “Can I come in?”

Cas steps back, trying to hide the anxious excitement building in his stomach. “Of course. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My cable company,” Dean says sullenly, dumping the beer on Cas’s kitchen table. “Cable’s out, and I can’t watch my soaps tonight. Figured I’d bum off your cable.”

Cas takes a beer, wondering if Dean was joking about the soap operas. “I don’t have cable.”

Dean drops his head, then laughs at his own mistake. “Of course you don’t,” he says, sighing. He takes a beer too and collapses on the couch. “What’s this then?” he asks, motioning to the flat screen TV in front of him. He leans forward, then laughs. “Is that Kiera Knightley?”

“Yes. It’s the 2005 production of Pride and Prejudice.”

Dean twists to give him an incredulous look. “A period drama, dude? Really?”

“We can watch something else if you want.”

“Nah,” Dean says, popping open his beer. “Kiera Knightley’s hot.”

“Matthew Macfadyen’s not too bad-looking either,” Cas says, unpausing the movie. He feels Dean’s eyes on him as he sits down on the couch. He should feel-self conscious but recently all he feels around Dean is a pleasant sort of lightheadedness, and tonight is certainly no exception. He smiles softly at Dean, who licks his lips. 

Dean shrugs eventually. “I can sort of see why you’d think that,” he says, eyeing Darcy on the screen. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Attractive - uh, you know. In a grumpy way.”

Cas doesn’t want to analyze that particular statement too deeply. He takes a long drink of his beer to make up for his silence and unpauses the video. 

It takes a few moments to catch Dean up on the events so far, but soon Dean is just as invested as Cas.

“Wow, the redhead’s a _bitch,”_ he says, and, “Jane’s freaking gorgeous,” and then later, “That Lydia’s got some issues.”

It’s comfortable. Cas wants it to last forever.

Then it happens. They get to the part when Elizabeth and Darcy meet at Pemberley, when Elizabeth’s feelings have grown warm and Darcy’s smile has finally appeared. It’s that moment when Dean makes an approving noise around the lips of his bottle. 

“He’s cute when he smiles,” he says, tilting his bottle toward the screen. 

Cas waits for Dean to take it back, to stutter over his words and hightail it out of the house. It doesn’t happen - so he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, afraid to shatter what small tendril of trust Dean’s just extended to him.

“Reminds me of you, Cas.” The words are quiet, but Cas is sure that’s what he heard. 

Tentatively, he looks at Dean, who’s smiling at him sidelong, eyes crinkled in affection. Cas would take it as a joke, except then Dean’s eyes roam down to his lips.

“I - thank you,” Cas says, barely able to swallow past the tangle of nerves in his throat. He doesn’t want to scare Dean away, so he says, “Am I not cute otherwise?”

Dean shifts closer, his eyes seeming to grow darker. “Cas,” he begins, his voice pitched low enough to make Cas shiver, “If I - “

Dean’s phone goes off, vibrating loudly and unpleasantly against the glass of Cas’s coffee table. Dean jerks and draws back. He takes his phone and looks at the number. His face grows ruddy, and he’s suddenly off the couch, snapping into the phone, “Took you fucking long enough, Sammy.” He retreats into the darkness of Cas’s kitchen.

Cas takes a moment to take a few deep breaths. His lips are still tingling in anticipation. 

Eventually, trying to quell his disappointment, he pauses the movie and follows, shaking the unpopped kernels in the popcorn bowl as an excuse. 

There’s a rumbling coming through Dean’s phone, then Dean sighs heavily, pressing a hand to his eyes as he leans against the counter.

“Sorry, Bobby. I just - haven’t heard from him.”

More rumbling.

“Dunno - 3, 4 weeks? A long time.”

Cas throws a fresh popcorn bag into the microwave and sets the timer. He leaves the room to give Dean a little privacy, even if, with the movie paused, he can still hear parts of the conversation. 

“ - okay, just hanging … friend … and Prejudice, can you believe … hey, that’s none of your … yeah, maybe, okay? Now shut up … “

Eventually the microwave starts beeping and Dean’s call ends. He comes back with a fresh bowl of popcorn and sits down again. He sets the bowl between them on the couch, which - okay. 

“Sorry about that,” Dean says, popping a few kernels in his mouth. “Thought it was - thought it was my brother.” 

And there it was, another tentative tendril of trust being extended to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean gives him a long look. In the light of the TV monitor, his eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheeks. He gives Cas a lopsided smile. “Thanks, bud. But nah. Not right now. Maybe another time.”

And then he unpauses the movie.

He doesn’t move any closer to Cas for the rest of the night.

 

It becomes a routine. Three or four times a week, Dean is over at Cas’s place, not just tending to his garden - long since cleared of brambles - but also just… hanging out. They watch movies, they have takeout. One memorable night, Dean even came over with a fresh apple pie. 

“Don’t usually have the time to bake, what with setting shit on fire, but I had a day off, so.”

His expression was anxious when Cas tasted his first mouthful. It was wonderful - warm and crumbly, tart but sweet. He said as much to Dean, who promptly stole the fork from Cas’s hand and then fed him another bite, grinning all the while, his green eyes following Cas’s lips.

It’s the sort of memory that Cas relives when Dean comes over in a mood - which, unfortunately, happens more often than he’d like. Cas usually lets it slide, understanding that while they’ve grown close, it’s still not his place to push. 

But one night Dean comes over looking more haggard than usual. His glossy eyes have shadows underneath them, and his face is drawn. He tries to get past Cas with a gruff, “Hey, Cas,” but Cas decides he’s had enough.

He stops Dean’s progress into his living room with a hand to his chest. “Dean. I’ve put up with your moods for the past month and a half. Not tonight. What’s wrong?”

Dean just closes his eyes like Cas has just shone a light into them. “Cas, I’m just not feeling it tonight. Can we not do this right now?”

Cas takes a step closer. “No,” he says simply. “Dean, sometimes you come over, and barely say a word to me. I like your company, even when we’re not talking, but if you’re going to treat me like I’m not here, I deserve to know why.”

But that just makes Dean’s expression fall, a frown marring his lips. The thin skin of his eyelids trembles finely as he says, “God, Cas, I’m sorry.” He sounds so sad it makes Cas’s heart hurt. “I’m a bag of dicks.”

Which is not what Cas set out to hear. He moves his hand to Dean’s shoulder, sighing. “Stop. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad about yourself; I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I’m worried about you and that I want to help you.” 

Dean opens his eyes. They’re glossy. His lips are red. “I don’t deserve that, Cas,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I don’t deserve you.”

Low-key fury makes Cas’s cheeks heat and his heartbeat stutter. “Dean Winchester,” he growls, “Nothing you have ever done or said to me has ever made me so angry.”

One silent tear runs down Dean’s face, but he says nothing in response.

Cas’s anger splinters and falls away. He sighs. He reaches to curve his hand around Dean’s jaw, which only serves to make Dean’s face crumple. He drops his forehead to Cas’s shoulder and trembles, his breath shuddering against Cas’s neck.

 

Eventually Cas guides Dean to the couch. 

“My mom died when Sammy was just a baby,” Dean explains, his voice raw as he picks at the threadbare cushions. “Then Dad got into some heavy shit. Loved us to death, I guess, but… he showed it in some pretty crappy ways. Pushed us hard. He left as soon as I turned 18.”

Cas sucks in a breath. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

The man shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but his nose is red and the tear tracks on his face are fresh. “Thanks, man. But it’s in the past, you know? It’s just… Sam.”

Cas reaches across the space between them to grip Dean’s shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”

Dean smiles shakily. “If you wanna hear it.”

Cas wants to hear everything Dean has to say - everything: his past, his present, his future, his hopes and dreams and fears and wonders and the random thoughts he has in the middle of the night. He doesn’t say that. He just nods and drops his hand.

“Sam’s - you know, he’s a little genius. The things he came up with when I was helping him with his school work? Genius shit. He was such a nerd. And he’s gonna be a badass lawyer someday.” He takes a deep shuddering breath, then continues. “He’s at Stanford right now - it’s his last year. But uh - he hasn’t been answering my calls.”

“How long has it been since you heard from him?”

“It’s been, I dunno, man - almost two months? Been pretty shitty without my little brother calling me every other day, y’know?”

He laughs, but it’s obvious he doesn’t find anything funny.

“Any reason he wouldn’t be calling you?”

“Dunno - but he stopped answering around the anniversary of my dad’s - my dad’s death.” At Cas’s inquiring look, he swallows and explains. “July 4th, couple of years ago - he had too much to drink. I was 21. Got the call the next morning. First I’d heard of him since he left. Didn’t even bother picking up his ashes.”

“How was Sam?”

“Said he didn’t care. But every year around that time he gets a little… sad.” He sighs and swipes a furious hand across his eyes. “Never been so bad he stopped talking to me, though.”

There’s nothing Cas can say to that. He looks down at his lap.

Dean’s slowly unfolding himself from the couch, stretching his limbs. “Man, sorry for getting all - you know. Emotional. And sorry for crying on you.” His smile is big, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It was a privilege,” Cas says, bowing his head as he stands up.

Dean swipes a thumb across Cas’s cheek. It’s just a ghost of a touch, but it sets Cas’s nerves ablaze. “A regular ol’ Mr. Darcy, aren’t you, Cas?”

Cas blinks, then says, “I’m afraid my sideburns aren’t as impressive as his.”

When Dean smiles this time, his smile is small but his eyes are bright.

 

It’s late August before they know it, and one day Dean reminds Cas of the barbeque he promised he would throw. “We’ll have Pizza Hut on speed dial just in case it all goes up in flames. Literally.”

Cas just rolls his eyes and hands Dean a beer. “Why am I throwing a barbeque for two people? It hardly makes sense.”

“Stop trying to get out of it,” Dean says, taking a swig. He’s standing in the ditch he’s digging in Cas’s yard. “Anyhow, I didn’t say you couldn’t invite more people. It just has to be in honor of me, your fantastic gardener.”

“I don’t have anyone to invite. And why am I throwing a barbeque for someone who _set my garden on fire?_ ”

“Are we still on that? Come on, Cas, that was two months ago. Get over it. We’ve come so far since then.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but then Cas meets Dean’s gaze, and the man’s eyes grow soft. 

“Come on, Darcy. Lighten up. Throw a barbeque. I’ll even cook if you want. Just - say we can have a barbeque.”

There’s a pleading in his voice that makes Cas pause and tilt his head. “Why is this so important to you?”

Dean shrugs and pretends to look at the progress he’s made on the hole. “Dunno, man. Didn’t have many barbeques growing up, y’know?”

Goddammit. He shouldn’t have asked. “Fine,” he bites. “You’re cooking. But stay away from my roses.”

 

Later, when Dean has gone home and left the phantom burn of a hand on Cas’s cheek, Cas multitasks. He searches up a certain name on Google and then calls up his brother. “Gabriel,” he says, putting the phone on speaker. “I need your help. Still have your connections over at Delta?”

“Sure do, lil’ bro. What d’ya need?”

Cas begins typing out an email as he explains the situation to Gabe. In a few minutes, he has his brother in on the plan and a short email composed. 

“You need the guy there in two weeks? Easy. What’s his name?”

Cas takes a deep breath. “Sam Winchester.” 

He clicks send.

 

When Sam replies, it’s obvious that he is wary about Cas’s intentions, and Cas is at a loss to show him proof of his sincerity. He settles for attaching a selfie that Dean took of the pair of them one day, just as the sun set.

_He’s covered in dirt because he had just finished helping me clear out some brambles in my yard. Also he’s frowning because he was in pain from when he fell into them a few days earlier. It’s a long story. You can see the bandages on his left side of his face if you squint. I am sorry the lighting is so poor. I am also sorry if it looks like I’m laughing at your brother. (Even though I am.)_

Sam simply says about the picture, _Looks like you guys are close. Are you why I haven’t heard from him in months?_

Cas dawdles over the next message he sends to Sam, but he sends it with a loud sigh. 

_I think it’s better if you talk to him yourself, Sam. In person. I think there are issues you need to talk through that can’t be resolved over the phone… I can, however, tell you that he’s been trying to reach you. Can you make it next weekend?_

The next email is less immediate, but it finally comes two days later: _Yes. How do I get in contact with your brother?_

Throughout all of this, Dean starts and finishes what has become his latest pet project: a koi pond. Cas helps with the research, but Dean does most of the dirty work. He digs a ditch, lines it, installs the fake pond, installs the filter and does a bunch of other fiddly stuff that Cas knows he’ll need Dean to maintain over the coming years. 

He says so softly to Dean one late afternoon in September as they turn on the filter for the first time and listen to the steady thrum of water in the pond. 

Dean just nudges him with an elbow. “‘m here as long as you need me, Cas,” he says, and in the quiet dusk Cas just about believes him. 

Later that night, when Cas sits on his back step, he watches Dean’s bedroom lights go off and wonders, _What if I need you forever?_

 

They go shopping for koi on the weekend. Dean lingers by Cas’s shoulder, hands brushing, as he points out the ones he likes the best. They pick one each and later, they release the fish into the softly thrumming pond, knocking their beers together in silence as they watch the fish circle each other in their new home.

 

Cas drives to the airport the next Saturday and waits in his car for Sam. He’s never seen the man except for one lone picture Dean had shown him, but a man that tall can’t be hard to miss. 

Sam walks out of the airport fifteen minutes after Cas arrives. His hair is untidy, his frame broad, his stride long. To Cas’s surprise Sam’s not alone; he tugs along a petite blonde woman behind him. Cas gets out of the car and lifts a hand. The blonde is on her tiptoes, but Sam catches sight of Cas easily. They meet halfway. 

Cas extends his hand. Sam takes it with a polite expression. Distant. “Nice to meet you, Castiel,” he says, nodding. “This is Jess.”

Dipping his head, Cas says, “Nice to meet you both.” He tries to smile in a way that he hopes doesn’t give away the fact that he’s extremely intimidated by the younger Winchester brother. “My car’s this way.”

Once they’re settled and Cas is pulling into traffic, Sam fixes him with a calculating look from the passenger seat. “So, Castiel,” he says, in a painfully casual tone, “What’s been going on with my brother that makes your brother comp us two free tickets to Boston?”

Castiel swallows hard, thinking that this is probably the equivalent of meeting Dean’s parents and thankful he has an excuse not to look at Sam. He makes a left turn. “Dean has been… worried,” he says carefully, “Because you haven’t been answering your phone.”

Cas spares a glance at Sam. The man looks confused. “He’s the one who hasn’t been answering his phone,” he says slowly.

“It’s probably a misunderstanding,” Cas assures him. “But he’s been upset and I couldn’t - I just - wanted to do something - nice. For him.”

A silence, too long, stretches in the car. The radio fuzzes out. “Huh,” Sam says under his breath. “Okay. Why?”

Jess hums tunelessly from the back seat, finally looking up from her phone and inserting herself in the conversation. “Sam,” she says, too cheerful, widening her eyes at him significantly.

Sam purses his lips. “Fine,” he says, looking out the window. “Sorry.”

But the answer is clamoring to be heard. “I really like your brother,” Cas blurts out. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. “And I want him to be happy.”

Jess is smirking as she looks at her phone. She whispers something under her breath that might be something like, “Told you so.”

“Yeah, yeah, know-it-all,” Sam mutters. His small smile is affectionate. 

The resultant silence is less awkward. Some tension melts from Sam’s posture.

After a few minutes, Sam asks, in a tone friendlier than before, “May I ask what you think is going to happen by doing this?”

Cas sees Jess look up, curious, in the rearview mirror. He mulls over his answer for a few seconds. “I don’t know, truthfully, but I can hope that it gives both of you a chance to work out your issues.”

Sam’s eyebrows rise skeptically. “It’s not to try to ‘win his heart’ or anything?”

Jess clears her throat from the backseat. Sam ignores her.

Cas feels his cheeks redden. “I - it never crossed my mind,” he says truthfully. “He told me about his family one day and it was obviously a source of sadness for him. And - I just - like I said, I want him to be happy.”

Sam stares at him. Then he nods. “Okay, Cas,” he says, “What’s the plan, then?”

 

The plan is, well, to hide. Cas hands them the keys to his house when they pull into his driveway and goes over to Dean’s to distract him while they settle in. Dean looks at the clock in confusion when Cas walks in. 

“A little early, aren’t you?” he asks, loading his dishwasher.

Cas shrugs, seating himself at the kitchen table. He wants to help Dean, but that would be too domestic, and Cas is in deep enough as it is. “Just wanted to see if you needed help,” he says.

“Nah,” Dean says, grinning. “There’s some leftover omelette, though, if you wanna help me get rid of it. Then I wanna see how Sam and Gabe are doing.”

Cas bangs his knee on the table. “Sam and - oh, the koi,” he breathes. “You mean the koi.”

Dean brings his eyebrows down. “You okay, bud?”

Cas nods. “Yes, totally fine. But uh - I’d like to help with the barbeque prep, if that’s okay. You can check on the fish when you come over.”

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “I mean, the meat’s marinating - we don’t actually have to get the grill started until - you know, until the barbeque actually starts. In five hours.”

“Drinks?” Cas supplies hopefully. “We should drop by the store.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. “We have more than enough for two - “

Cas interrupts him. “I have people coming over,” he says quickly. “Friends.”

If possible, Dean looks even more surprised. “I didn’t know you had friends other than me, Darcy,” he says, grinning. “But okay - sounds good. You gotta tell me about them as we drive, though.”

 

When they get back to their street and Dean wanders off to prepare, Cas opens his own front door to find Sam and Jess lounging on his couch watching _Pride and Prejudice._

“Hey,” Jess says, grinning. “Hope you don’t mind. You and Dean were out a lot longer than we thought.”

Cas blushes. “He insisted on very detailed explanations of how I met the friends I was inviting. I don’t think he believes me one whit.”

“When is he coming over?” Sam asks, sounding, for the first time, unsure. Jess pats him on the leg.

“In about an hour or so,” Cas says gently. “If you wanted to grab a shower, now’s the time.”

Sam nods, seeming distracted. “Yeah, sounds good, thanks.”

He wanders upstairs.

Jess smiles at Cas. “Thanks for doing this, Castiel,” she says. “It’s good for both of them, I think, even if Sam might think it’s all for Dean’s benefit.”

Cas rubs the back of his neck. “When I was planning it, it really was just for Dean’s benefit,” he admits, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch.

Jess shrugs. “Still,” she says, “I’m glad it worked out this way.”

They hear the water running upstairs.

“I hope it works out with Dean, too,” Jess continues quietly, picking at the couch threads absently.

“L-like I said,” Cas says, blushing again, “I’m not doing this to get him to return my feelings - “

Jess lifts a hand, her eyes wide, “No, I don’t mean it like that - I’m so sorry - I just - you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy, just like how you’re trying to make Dean happy. That’s all.” She bites her lip. “Do you think he feels the same?”

Cas thinks about that. He thinks about the almost-kisses, the not-quite-just-friendly touches, the nicknames - the garden, Dean’s smile. And he thinks, _God, I hope so._ To Jess, he merely says, “Maybe.”

 

“Sorry, bud, I just don’t believe you know a guy named Steve who works at Gas n’ Sip _or_ a guy named Emmanuel who healed your brother’s hemorrhoids.”

Cas looks at his watch from where he’s seated on his back step. “They’ll be here any second, Dean.”

Dean casts him a dubious look, flipping over one of the steaks. “You made them up, didn’t you? Steve and Emmanuel? And Gadreel? Who names their kid Gadreel? Are you planning on plying me with all the beer we bought for your fake friends and then having your way with me or something?” 

“Not tonight,” Cas says, though his ears still heat. 

“Shame,” Dean says, winking at him.

The flirting is nothing new, but tonight it makes Cas feel downtrodden. Dean is in such a good mood. Will it keep for much longer when he learns Sam is here? Because of Cas’s meddling?

Cas hears heavy footsteps on the stairs inside the house. He stands up and catches Sam’s eye through the window. He nods.

A few seconds later, Cas’s back door opens. Dean turns toward the noise, his eyebrows rising in curiosity - then dropping in shock and confusion. He drops the tongs. “Sammy,” he says faintly.

Sam shifts from one foot to the other and looks down at his feet, almost like a chastened child. “Hey, Dean.”

Cas watches Dean’s expression change from shocked to angry, then angry to resigned. After a tense few seconds, he sighs. “Gonna give me a hug, little brother?” he asks, smiling tiredly.

It’s all Sam needs to hear before his face crumples and he’s bolting forward to engulf his brother in a hug. There’s a lot of grumbling and sniffling, and when they draw back, their eyes are suspiciously wet.

Dean meets Cas’s gaze. “This because of you, Darcy?”

Cas is spared from answering when Jess pokes her head out of the house. 

“Hey,” she says, looking freshly showered.

Dean’s eyes light up. He punches his brother in the arm without taking his eyes off her. “Dude,” he says, “Is this her?”

“Jess, this is Dean,” Sam says. His nose is red.

Dean strides forward and hugs her. When he draws back, they’re both grinning.

“You didn’t tell me he was better-looking, Sam,” Jess says, her nose wrinkling in amusement. 

“It’s not too late to switch brothers,” Dean says, winking at her.

Sam seems unimpressed. Cas understands. 

“Your steak’s about to burn, idiot,” Sam says.

Dean sobers when he hears Sam’s voice, his smile falling suddenly. They stare at each other. Then Dean says, too gently, “It’s been a while, Sammy.”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” they say simultaneously. The silence stretches on after that.

Cas meets Jess’s eye, and they slip quietly back into the house.

 

The brothers talk for two hours, then Sam pokes his head into the house and smiles at Cas and Jess, who were dozing in front of the TV. “Dinner?” he suggests. They follow him outside, where Sam and Dean are conversing and fooling around like they’d never been apart a day.

“It’s like they’ve regressed into children again,” Jess whispers to him, as they watch Sam and Dean start an impromptu food fight with very expensive cuts of meat. 

But Cas can’t fault them, especially when Dean is laughing so hard he keeps falling off his chair. “They found each other again,” he says, smiling.

Jess smirks at him, looking impressed. “Is that the sort of thing I’d find in your books?”

Cas looks down at his plate, grinning bashfully.

“Are you stealing my girlfriend from me, too, Cas?” Sam asks, probably catching the last bit of their conversation.

Jess gives Sam a coy look. “That’s right,” she says, linking her arm through Cas’s. “He’s in touch with his feelings and has excellent taste in movies. Goodbye, Sam.”

Sam purses his lips. Jess laughs at his expression. Cas chuckles with her until he meets Dean’s eye. Then he’s smiling and Dean’s smiling back, his eyes soft and affectionate, his hands in his pockets, and it looks like Cas is going to have to reject Jess’s offer to run away with her because there’s no way in hell that he would ever leave Dean’s side with him looking like that.

Meanwhile, Sam clears his throat. He shuffles nervously in the same spot and says to Jess, “That’s a shame, because I have this really expensive ring in my pocket that I wanted to give to you.”

There’s a stunned silence.

Jess withdraws her arm from Cas’s. Her eyes are wide. 

Sam drops to one knee and holds out a small velvet box to her. “Marry me?”

 

She says yes, of course, and cries almost more than Sam. Even Dean is teary when he tells his brother, “Thanks for letting me be here, man,” and Cas has to wipe his eyes on his sleeve when he hears that.

Jess hugs both Dean and Cas, giving them her regrets that she’s decided to marry Sam now, sorry, he has a bigger ring - and spends a long time crying into Cas’s shirt, saying, “You deserve to be happy too.”

It’s only when Sam tugs her away that she stops and gives Cas a watery smile. Sam holds out his hand for Cas to shake.

“Thanks for bringing us, man. Dean’s my only family, and I’m glad I could do this with him here.”

Cas watches Dean, who’s busy cleaning up. “Thank you for coming,” he says, “He seems lighter now. Especially because he’s got a new sister in his future.”

Jess aims a punch at Cas’s shoulder. “Stop making me cry.”

“Don’t hurt the nice man,” Sam says, pressing a kiss to Jess’s forehead. He smiles at Cas. “We’re gonna turn in now, so we gotta grab our things. Dean, the keys?”

Dean wanders over and hands Sam the keys. “Sorry, man, only got a couch for you to crash on.”

“You can stay here,” Cas suggests, “I have a guest bedroom - and your things are already here. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Dean looks insulted by his generosity. Cas wants to kiss him. “Cas, you already flew them in - you don’t have to host them too.”

“I want to,” Cas says, “And it’s their first night being engaged. They deserve an actual bed.”

“Ugh, fine,” Dean concedes, then turns on the couple. “But you’re at my place first thing in the morning so I can cook you breakfast.”

“You can stay too,” Cas says to him, without thinking. The three of them stare at him. “I mean, we can make an event of it. And no one would have to walk over in the morning. We’re all here anyway, and we have plenty of leftovers.”

Jess makes a thoughtful noise, which Cas has already learned means she’s plotting something. “Sounds great, Cas,” she says, prodding Sam in the side. “We’ll head to bed now. Good night, you two!”

Dean stares at him contemplatively as the couple heads back into the house. Then he’s smiling softly again. He swipes his knuckles across Cas’s cheek, feather-light. “You’re awful persuasive, you know that?” He walks past Cas, heading into his own yard. “Just gotta grab a few things. Be back in a few.”

It’ll take more than a few minutes to calm Cas’s heart.

 

Cas folds out the couch in his living room while Dean hangs back in the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d changed into, looking so comfortable in Cas’s home that Cas has to excuse himself to bang his head against a wall. When he comes back, Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table.

“Nightcap?” he asks, looking hopeful. 

_Anything,_ Cas wants to say. Instead, he pours out a thumb of whiskey for them both and takes a seat next to him. “Did you find out why Sam wasn’t answering his calls?”

Dean turns red. “Uh, yeah,” he says, “He lost his phone. He emailed me with the new number, but I - uh, I didn’t check my email.”

“Dean,” Cas says, sending him an incredulous look. “You’re joking.”

“No one emails me!” Dean says defensively, “Why would I check?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Sam’s the ridiculous one; he thought he remembered my number but apparently he’s been calling someone else for the past few months. Thought I wasn’t answering.”

Cas stares. “You’re _both_ ridiculous. I saw you two today - how could either of you ever believe the other one wasn’t answering his phone out of spite? You both care for each other too much.”

“I dunno, man,” Dean says softly, though a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “There’s still a lot of shit between us, you know? It’s easier to think he hates me than to think that he loves me and wants to hear from me. I guess I just need reminders every so often.”

Nudging Dean’s shoulder, Cas says, “I’ll remind you, if you want.”

Dean grins, pushing right back. Their shoulders remain touching, and Dean’s warmth makes Cas’s fingers tingle in a way that makes him want to push them through Dean’s hair. “I’d like that, Cas,” Dean says, just a beat too late for it to be casual.

They fall silent, taking swallows of their drinks. Cas is content to linger in the silence, to bask in the quiet happiness Dean is radiating and to know he had a hand in it, but Dean eventually sighs and twists to face Cas.

“Speaking of Sam, I really should be pissed at you for going behind my back,” he says, sounding frustrated, “But I’m too goddamn happy to do that.”

Smiling at the table, Cas says, “You can be pissed at me all you want later; now’s the time for being happy.”

“Yeah,” Dean concedes, though he still sighs. He kicks Cas’s chair leg. “Thank you, man. Seriously. I can’t even believe you did this for me.”

“You deserved it, Dean,” Cas says, “ _And_ you needed it.”

Dean swirls the liquid around in his glass, watches it for a while before knocking it back in one gulp. He puts the glass down and sighs. “I did need it,” he admits slowly, “But the blame for the whole shitty situation was on me and Sammy - not you. You stepped in even though you had nothing to do with it. Just because - just because what? You wanted to?”

It’s probably a rhetorical question, but Cas is desperately trying not to watch Dean’s lips, shiny with whiskey and begging to be tasted. He stares at his hands, clutched around his glass, instead, and answers, “It’s what any friend would do.”

Dean’s expression is incredulous when Cas looks up. “Friends - I have friends; they don’t do this type of shit.”

“They don’t deserve you, then,” Cas says simply, because the whiskey makes it feel like a night to tell the harder truths. “Anybody who really knows you would do everything they could to make you happy.” 

He lifts his glass to drink, but it doesn’t even reach his lips before Dean tugs it out of his grip and sets it firmly on the tabletop. Cas frowns, turning to meet Dean’s eyes, but instead finds himself being kissed insistently, Dean’s lips suddenly slick against his.

The alcohol makes it messy and uncoordinated. Everything is just on the wrong side of wet, and their teeth knock painfully more than once. 

For a few hopeless seconds, it continues, until finally Dean draws back with a mortified laugh. 

“That was supposed to go a lot better,” he groans, ducking his head. Despite that, he’s grinning.

Cas smiles, elated, breathless, though he has to swipe at his wet lip. “I quite enjoyed it,” he says, and it’s true. Dean kissed him, as bad as it was, and judging by the way his hand is still high on Cas’s thigh, there’s going to be more kisses in their future - so he’s not going to complain.

Dean lifts his head to meet Cas’s eyes. “You’re lying to me,” he says, though his accusation lacks bite. 

Cas licks his lips. Dean’s eyes follow the motion. “No, I’m not,” Cas says, “I did enjoy it. But yes, it was a rather poor kiss.”

Dean sighs dramatically, then leans in again. “We’ll just have to practice.”

It’s much better this time.

Cas’s hand comes up naturally to Dean’s neck, and he’s happy - happy to feel Dean’s hand gripping his waist, happy to be here, that this is happening, that they’ve ended up here, exchanging languid kisses ten feet from Cas’s beautiful garden.

When they separate, Dean lets out a chuckle and murmurs, “Been wanting to do that for ages, honestly.” 

Smiling - he can’t help it - Cas asks, “Why’s today so special, then?”

“Oh, you’ve only just flown in my brother and my future sister-in-law from across the country as a surprise to me.”

Cas’s smile falls. “I didn’t do it so you would - “

“I know,” Dean says, squeezing Cas’s thigh. “I also did it because Sam told me what you said in the car.” He grins. “He seemed to think I was being an idiot for not making a move sooner.”

“I’m just happy you made a move at all,” Cas admits.

“I didn’t think I ever would go through with it,” Dean says, wincing. “You’re - you’re kind of amazing, and I’m - “

“Just as amazing,” Cas interrupts.

Dean ducks his head, trying to tamp down an embarrassed smile. The tips of his ears are red. Then he looks up through his eyelashes at Cas and says slyly, “So you admit you think you’re amazing?”

Dean will do anything to avoid acknowledging a compliment, and Cas usually lets him get away with it. Not this time. “I have to be to keep up with you.”

Dean snorts, but when he drops his forehead to Cas’s shoulder, Cas knows he’s hiding a smile.

 


End file.
